


Offered Up

by Totally_Inappropriate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Dildos, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, M/M, Self-Hatred, Shota, and again I cannot emphasize enough that this is a shota fic, shotajohn, so significantly underage John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1957305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totally_Inappropriate/pseuds/Totally_Inappropriate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock offers Greg Lestrade something he won't admit that he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Offered Up

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is shota. John's age is not specified, but he is very much under the age of consent for the things he does (and the things that are done to him) in this story. Please check the tags and do not read this fic if shota isn't your thing. I imagine that this story could be triggering to survivors of child abuse/sexual abuse as well, although it is not intended to depict abuse, so please proceed with caution.
> 
> This story was written for fantasy purposes only. Behavior like this in real life would absolutely constitute child abuse and is not condoned/supported by the author.

Greg Lestrade sighed and leaned back in his chair as Sherlock came bursting in to his office, followed by his trusty miniature sidekick, John. Predictably, Sherlock did not bother with the preliminaries, just stomped his way inside and started berating Greg for disturbing the crime scene before he could see it, which prevented him from collecting all the information he needed to solve his current case. Greg ignored him.

“Hi John. Not in school today?”

“Oh, uh… no. I’m not feeling well.” John gave an extremely unconvincing fake cough.

Greg suppressed an inappropriate smile at John’s adorable attempt to cover up. He was amazed that Sherlock had not taught the boy to lie better by now. However, he was still annoyed with the situation. He knew that Sherlock kept John out of school sometimes when he was working on a case and found it convenient to have John with him to be his fetch and carry, but he wished they wouldn’t rub it in his face like this. He was a police officer, after all. He might have to do something about it someday.

“I see. Well then, you should be in bed resting. Shouldn’t he, _Papa_ Sherlock?” Greg deliberately emphasized the title, which John had bestowed upon Sherlock as soon as he came in to his care, much to the amusement of all the Yarders.

Sherlock didn’t even have the grace to look chagrined. “He’s feeling much better now. And as I was saying…” he continued ranting, mixing insults and deductions into his special personal blend of social engagement. Greg mostly tuned him out, well able after all this time to pick relevant information out of the stream of words pouring out of Sherlock without devoting much of his attention to it. It was the only way he ever got anything done.

Instead, he found himself regarding John, who was sat on a chair watching Sherlock’s every move as if mesmerized. John looked especially young and adorable today, a baggy oatmeal jumper hanging from his skinny shoulders over somewhat too-small jeans. Greg wondered for a moment why Sherlock never seemed to buy the boy clothes that fit, but then answered his own question by reminding himself that this was Sherlock, after all. Hell, they were lucky that John had clothes at all. It was not out of the range of possibility that Sherlock would forget completely and just let the boy walk around naked.

This thought and the accompanying brief mental image derailed Greg’s thoughts completely, and he banished them from his mind before refocusing on Sherlock. Who had stopped speaking.

“Is that it then?” Greg asked, when he realized that Sherlock and John were both looking at him. Sherlock had not given him much new information.

“For now, yes. Try not to ruin half the evidence before I arrive next time and I will be able to give you more.” Greg rolled his eyes, but Sherlock ignored him. “Come along, John.”

Sherlock turned to go, John at his heels, but then stopped and turned back suddenly. John had to jump backwards to avoid being trampled.

“Oh, Lestrade, come by my flat tomorrow morning. I’ve uncovered some new information about the Jenkins case that I want to go over with you.”

“The Jenkins case?” Greg was confused. “That case is closed, Sherlock. On your recommendation, I might add. What new information?”

“It might take a while to get through, so make sure you have some time.”

“Jesus, Sherlock. If you are going to tell me we arrested the wrong man after everything you put us through, I might just kill you.”

Sherlock smirked. “Nothing like that, Lestrade. Just come by. I think it will be to your liking.”

“Fine.” Greg let out a deep, put-upon breath. Sherlock nodded and spun on his heel, marching out of Greg’s office with his usual dramatic flair.

“Bye Uncle Greg. See you tomorrow!” John waved brightly at him before dashing off after Sherlock. Greg loved that John called him Uncle Greg, despite Sherlock’s best attempts to get John to call him by his title. He found it sweet.

In fact, sweet was the correct word to describe little John Watson. He was bright and cheerful, always happy, which made an interesting contrast next to Sherlock’s sour moods. He went out of his way to be friendly with everyone at the Yard, and succeeded in charming all the officers, even those that abhorred everything about Sherlock. Looking at his innocent young face never failed to brighten Greg’s day. And he did look very young; there was something about his face and his stature that made a person assume he must be extremely young. Greg frequently had to remind himself that he was a bit older than he appeared. It was the only way that he could convince himself it was a good idea to let Sherlock have guardianship of a child – and, despite the fact that John was somewhat older than he looked, he was certainly a child still.

Greg shook his head and went back to work.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next day, as requested, Greg went over to Sherlock’s flat. It was quiet downstairs, which told Greg that Mrs. Hudson must be out. When she was home she always had the telly blaring. He trotted up the stairs, making no effort to be stealthy. The door to the flat was closed, which was fairly unusual, so he knocked before opening it and poking his head in. He was expected, after all.

The sitting room was empty when Greg went in.

“Hey, anyone home?”

After a short silence, Greg heard a door open somewhere in the back of the flat, followed by heavy footsteps, and then Sherlock stepped into the room. He was wearing a red dressing gown, loosely belted around his waist. He did not appear to have anything on under it.

“Good morning Detective Inspector,” Sherlock said, sounding almost jovial.

“Um, hi. Is this a bad time?”

“Of course not. I’m glad you’re here.” Sherlock turned and shouted down the hall. “John, come greet our guest.”

A few seconds later, John stepped out of the hallway and into the sitting room, coming to stand just in front of Sherlock. At the sight of him, Greg’s mouth went dry. He was flushed, glistening slightly with sweat, his lips dark and swollen like he had been biting them. _Or someone had._ And he was dressed in only a short robe, which stopped several inches above his knees. A pink robe, printed with a pattern of large cartoon frogs. His thin bare legs, pale and smooth and nearly hairless, were completely visible to Greg’s gaze.

With an effort, he wrenched his eyes away.

“Hi Uncle Greg,” John said softly, looking up at Greg from beneath his long lashes.

“John… Sherlock, what the hell is going on here? Did John just come out of your bedroom? Dressed like _that_?”

Sherlock smirked. “As you must have deduced by now, I did not in fact ask you over to talk about the Jenkins case.” Sherlock paused. Greg did not respond, just gaped at him, and after a moment Sherlock continued. “In fact, John has been telling me that I should be nicer to you. And I like to make my little boy happy,” and here he reached out and stroked one hand across John’s short hair, while John turned and grinned up at him. Greg opened his mouth, but only a squeak emerged. “So I invited you here so that John and I can give you something you want. Something you will enjoy receiving, and that we will enjoy giving.” He stopped speaking, looking at Greg with an amused expression.

“Sherlock, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if this is what it looks like I’m going to need to _fucking Christ_!” Greg cut himself off as John casually unbelted his robe and let it fall to the ground. Beneath it he was naked, his slender little body gleaming pale in the dim light of the sitting room.

“Sit down, Lestrade.” Sherlock said in a sharp voice, and Greg did, not because he wanted to but because he didn’t think his legs would hold him up any longer. He was happy to land on the sofa instead of the floor, as he had no idea whether it was behind him when he sat.

“Sherlock, seriously, I don’t know what you think I want but this is not on.” Greg tried to put some steel in his voice, but it came out sounding breathy and scared anyway.

“Oh stop. Do you think I don’t know? Me? Do you think I can’t read every deep dark desire in your heart? Especially lately, when I bring John along to your office? Do you think I can’t see the way you drool?”

“I do not-” Greg started, furious, but Sherlock ignored him.

“Go greet your Uncle Greg properly, John,” he said gently, giving John a little push on the shoulder. And John, naked and flushed, walked directly to where Greg was sitting on the sofa.

Suddenly Greg couldn’t see anything else but John’s pale perfect little body. He was so thin, so slight – God, he was so _young_. His nipples were pale pink, nearly the color of his skin, and they were tightened to points despite the warmth in the flat. His body was essentially hairless, just an uninterrupted expanse of smooth tender skin. And his little pink cock was hard above small, tight balls.

Greg jerked his eyes up to John’s face. “John…” he breathed, but then trailed off. John was staring back at him with huge liquid eyes, his face glowing with youth and innocence as always. His expression was serious and calm. He reached Greg and without pausing clambered up onto his lap until he came to rest straddling Greg’s thighs, their faces inches apart.

Greg froze for a long moment, staring back at John, before he remembered himself. He leaned around John and spoke to Sherlock. “Look, I don’t care what you think you’ve deduced about me. I am a police officer and this is so far past illegal it’s not even in the same country.”

Sherlock said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.

Greg felt small, soft hands come to rest on his cheeks, and let John turn his head until they were facing one another once again.

“It’s okay, Uncle Greg,” John said earnestly, his voice high and sweet. “I like it, I do. I know it’s not… you know… normal, what we do, but still. I just…,” John dropped his eyes, bit his lip, and then looked back up at Greg through his lashes. “I really want to. Please.”

“Oh shit,” Greg said softly as John leaned in, slowly bringing their faces closer and closer together. He did not move, could not, as John’s lips met his. He sat, frozen, as John kissed his unresponsive mouth.

Then John parted his lips and sucked Greg’s lower one into his mouth, tonguing along the soft flesh, and Greg could not resist. He opened his mouth and licked along John’s lip, and John released his lip to let their tongues meet. Greg’s hands came up and closed convulsively on John’s bare hips, the feel of his tiny body in Greg’s grip sending a sudden sharp pulse of desire through him. John pushed his small tongue into Greg’s mouth and moaned at the feeling of his hands, and Greg squeezed harder, moaning back. He chased John’s slick little tongue out of his own mouth and into the warm cavern of John’s, thrusting deep and letting their tongues slide together in a filthy caress.

A low baritone hum floated out into the room, and Greg suddenly remembered where he was, what he was doing. Which was essentially sitting on Sherlock’s sofa snogging a naked child. With a sharp gasp he broke the kiss and pushed John backwards up his thighs. He looked over John’s shoulder at Sherlock, his eyes wide and wild. “Jesus fucking Christ Sherlock, I can’t do this.”

Sherlock was standing in the same place, watching them with hooded eyes and casually holding his cock, which was very visibly erect and poking out from between the flaps of his dressing gown. He just watched Greg, silent.

John leaned forward, scooting down Greg’s thighs again, and pressed his smooth cheek against Greg’s stubbled one.

“Please, Uncle Greg. Oh please,” he panted softly, directly into Greg’s ear. At the same time, Sherlock, still looking into Greg’s eyes, gave his cock another slow stroke and licked his lips.

“Oh God, I just… I can’t…” Greg pleaded, although he was not sure whether he was pleading with Sherlock, John, or himself.

“Does he have an erection, John?” Sherlock asked suddenly, still stroking himself. Greg jumped and then moaned as John’s small hands found his achingly hard cock through his trousers and gave him a light squeeze.

“Yes Papa,” John answered in his sweet little voice. “It’s big, too.” He started squeezing and stroking rhythmically. Greg’s hands fell away from John’s hips, dropping to rest beside him on the sofa without strength, and his head fell backwards.

“Oh my God.” He shook his head from side to side, negating the experience even as he let the pleasure of John’s hands working his cock roll through him.

“Very good, John. Now, why don’t you give your Uncle Greg your special kiss. I think he would really like it.”

Greg raised his head and opened his eyes. “What-”

“Oh, can I Uncle Greg?” John cut him off, looking bright and cheerful and excited as a child at Christmas. “Papa says I’m really good at it. It will make you feel so good!”

Greg opened his mouth with no idea what he was going to say, but John did not wait for his answer. He opened the flies of Greg’s trousers quickly and then hopped off of Greg’s lap and started pulling his trousers and pants off. Greg sucked in a breath and let him, even lifting his hips to accommodate. He knew he should stop this, knew it was wrong and bad and terrible, but he was also more aroused than he had ever been in his life.

Because Sherlock was right, damn him straight to hell! Greg had never let his fantasies affect his real life, never even considered following through, but in the dark of his own bedroom when he was alone he did sometimes imagine scenarios like this – a small smooth body, a high eager voice, tiny hands and soft pink lips. And now here it was, being offered to him on a silver platter. And despite believing himself to be a good, moral man, he was not sure he had the strength to refuse this.

John finished removing his trousers and pants, leaving Greg in just his shirt on the sofa, erection jutting up from between his legs red and weeping. John was looking at it, and as Greg watched he licked his lips. He looked up at Greg and smiled again.

“Thank you, Uncle Greg.”

John dropped to his knees between Greg’s thighs, his slender body taking up almost no room. He wrapped his little hands around Greg’s cock, barely able to completely encircle it even using both of them. Then he leaned forward and placed a tender sucking kiss on the tip of Greg’s penis, directly over the slit.

“Fuck!” Greg’s whole body jolted and his cock pulsed in John’s grip.

John continued to kiss his cock, sucking softly just on the tip, tonguing and licking around the slit. Greg held his breath and forced himself the keep his hips still, although he desperately wanted to moan, to thrust, to grab that small head and push his cock deep into the welcoming little mouth.

“That’s very good, John,” Sherlock purred from where he stood halfway across the room. “You’re such a good boy for Papa, for your Uncle Greg.” John broke the kiss and leaned back on his heels, smile lighting up his young innocent face. Greg swallowed and precome pulsed from the tip of his cock. “Now, I think Uncle Greg would like to play the game where you see how much of his erection you can fit in your mouth.”

“Would you like that, Uncle Greg?” John asked brightly, still gripping Greg’s cock in his small hands. “It’s one of my favorite games. I can fit a lot now, too. I’ve been practicing.” He looked proud.

“I… oh God… I…,” Greg looked down at John’s beautiful cherubic expression and hated himself. He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Thank you, Uncle Greg.” And Greg could hear the genuine delight in his voice. He shuddered.

A pause, and Greg could feel John’s slim shoulders brushing against his thighs as he changed position. Then wet heat closed around the head of his cock once again. He groaned aloud at the ceiling, unable to hold it back, and clenched his hands tight on the sofa cushions.

Slowly, Greg felt warmth slide down his cock until the entire head was inside John’s mouth. He paused, swirling his tongue around it, then backed off just as slowly. Again, a slow slide inside, taking just a bit more this time, a pause, and then a slow slide out. Again. And again. Going just a tiny bit deeper each time, taking just a little more of Greg’s hard cock into his small hot mouth. The entire time, his little hands caressed Greg’s shaft, slipping up and down, slick and soft.

“You really should watch, Lestrade. John is doing such a good job, and he likes it when you look,” Sherlock said softly, his voice a deep rumble. Greg shivered at the sound, at the words.

He waited until John had pulled back before lifting his head to look down. John was kneeling, sitting back on his heels, both hands wrapped around Greg’s cock, looking back up at him with those enormous eyes. His lips, wet and red, quirked in a small smile before he wrapped his mouth around the head of Greg’s cock once again. Greg gasped as he watched John slide down on his cock, little mouth stretched as wide as it could go, taking more and more. John looked up at him as he slid down, until Greg could feel his cock pressing against the back of John’s throat. Then John’s eyes fluttered closed and he pressed further, straining against the pressure, forcing more of Greg’s cock into his throat. And despite the effort, more than half of Greg’s length still did not fit into the shallow cavern of his young mouth.

“Very good, John,” Sherlock purred. “You’re being such a good boy for your Uncle Greg. Isn’t he being a good boy, Uncle Greg?”

Greg sucked in a sharp breath, his concentration broken from where he was staring, mesmerized, at the sight of his cock disappearing into John’s mouth. He looked up at Sherlock, who was watching him avidly and stroking his cock. Sherlock dropped his eyes to John and then back to Greg, and nodded at him.

“Oh,” Greg gasped. “Oh, yeah. You’re… you’re a good boy, John. You’re doing a good job.” He fumbled the praise out, fighting to maintain control of his voice. John hummed on his cock at the words, and Greg barely managed not to thrust into the sensation.

Sherlock huffed, recalling Greg’s attention again. “You can do better than that, Lestrade. Tell him how you feel, what you like. Be specific. John is being so good for you and he deserves to hear about it.”

Greg swallowed, looking back down at John, who was still slowly sliding his mouth up and down Greg’s cock. John’s eyes were open again, looking up at him with such a trusting, hopeful expression that Greg felt another intense wave of self-hatred and lust. But he did not tell John to stop.

Greg opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Somehow, adding praise to this made it feel so much _dirtier_. That he was not only doing this to John, a child, but making him think that it was a good and right thing to do, something he should aspire to be good at.

This thought pulled another pounding wave of lust through him.

“Your mouth feels so good on my cock, John,” Greg found himself saying, almost before he was aware that he was going to speak. “So warm and wet. You’re doing such a good job taking it, fitting it in. You’re making your Uncle Greg feel so good.”

“Oh yes,” Sherlock murmured, but Greg could not break his gaze away from John’s lips wrapped around his cock.

John responded to Greg’s words by moving his mouth faster on Greg’s cock, sliding up and down on the part he could fit enthusiastically. He had reached his limit, Greg thought, and was not going to be able to take any more. He could still fit less than half, his mouth too small and tight to push any more in.

Greg watched, unable to look away as John continued to suck, and felt heat and pleasure pooling in his groin. Usually he needed stimulation to more of his cock than just the head in order to achieve orgasm, but the sight of John’s little head between his legs, tiny mouth stuffed full of his cock, was going to push him over the edge anyway.

“Now, John,” Sherlock said, and Greg gave a start. He had not realized that Sherlock had moved, but there he was, suddenly kneeling on the rug behind where John was sat between Greg’s legs. “John, I want you to listen, but don’t take your mouth off of Uncle Greg’s penis, okay?”

John slowed his movements, sliding his mouth down almost as far as he could on Greg’s cock and then stilling completely.

“Good boy, John. So good for your Papa.” Sherlock stroked a hand down John’s back gently as he spoke. “Do you remember the game we were playing before Uncle Greg got here?” John nodded, mouth still full of cock. “We’re going to keep playing that game now. But I want you to keep your mouth on Uncle Greg’s penis the whole time, okay? Don’t take it off, even for a second.” John nodded again, and Sherlock smiled. “That’s my good, perfect boy. Get up on your knees.”

Greg had no idea what was going on, but John’s mouth was still wrapped around the head of his cock and apparently staying that way, so he was not going to argue. Greg widened his knees as John shifted, little hands dropping from his cock to brace himself on the ground, and rose up on his hands and knees. He arched his back and spread his knees apart, and then Greg could see the warm pink skin in the cleft of his little plump arse.

“That’s right, good boy,” Sherlock said, caressing John’s arse cheek with one hand. “I’m going to start with two this time, since you did so well earlier.” He positioned himself behind John and just to one side, and lifted a bottle that Greg had not seen him get. The cap snapped as Sherlock flicked it open with his thumb, tipping it to pour a generous quantity of clear liquid over two of his fingers.

And suddenly Greg understood what Sherlock was about to do to John.

“Oh fuck.” Greg dropped his gaze back to John’s face. He was still, mouth warm but soft around Greg’s cock, and he had his eyes clenched tightly shut. “Fuck,” Greg said again. Lust and concern and a strange, undefined desperation churned inside him, and he was frozen, unable to do anything but watch as Sherlock’s long thin violinist’s fingers, glistening and slick, moved in toward John’s tiny arsehole.

Sherlock’s fingers slid around John’s tight little hole for a few seconds before he pushed them in, stopping with the tips just inside. John sucked in a sharp breath when he was penetrated, tightening his mouth on Greg’s cock unexpectedly, and Greg bucked once before he could stop himself. He could not look away from where Sherlock’s fingers met John’s arse, mesmerized by the way the tiny little hole stretched to accommodate the intrusion.

“That’s good, John,” Sherlock spoke, his voice soothing, gentle. “You’re going a good job for your Papa. A little more, now.” And he pushed his fingers in up to the second knuckle.

John jerked his mouth off of Greg’s cock and keened, his flying open. “Papa, Papa it’s-”

“John!” Sherlock cut him off, sharp and angry. “I told you not to take your mouth off of Uncle Greg’s penis. You need to do as your Papa says.”

John froze, swallowed. “Sorry Papa,” he said finally in a tremulous voice. He leaned forward obediently, opening his mouth to catch Greg’s cock again. Greg just watched as John sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, a tear trickling down one smooth pink cheek. Surges of lust pounded through him, warring with bitter self-disgust but winning the battle, and Greg could not stop.

“That’s right, John. You keep your Uncle Greg’s cock in your mouth now. Be my good boy, okay?” Sherlock spoke soothingly, and John’s body seemed to relax at the sound. “If you come off again, Uncle Greg will have to hold you there to help you.”

Greg’s eyes jumped to Sherlock at that, his mind suddenly filled with visions of him holding John’s small face in his hands and thrusting hard into that hot little mouth. Sherlock, looking down at John’s small form, did not appear to notice.

Sherlock drew his fingers out just slightly and then thrust them in again. John bucked at the feeling, his squeak muffled around the cock in his mouth, but did not lift his head.

Sherlock set up a rhythm, pushing his fingers in and out of John’s arse steadily, further in each time until the entire length of his fingers was disappearing into John’s tight little hole with each thrust. Greg watched, hungrily drinking in the sight of John’s tiny arsehole clenching around Sherlock’s fingers, the way that Sherlock’s hand looked so huge alongside John’s narrow little arse, the way his thin pale body bucked and twitched with Sherlock’s motions. John’s mouth was still tight around Greg’s cock, sucking softly, but Greg paid almost no attention, too caught up in watching John’s tiny arse being penetrated.

“Very good, John,” Sherlock purred, after some undefined time had passed. “You’re doing so well. You deserve a reward.”

He rotated his hand, sliding his fingers partway out and then thrusting them in shallowly. Almost immediately, John’s body started twitching and jumping, moans pouring from his mouth only to be muffled on Greg’s cock. He started rocking back into Sherlock’s thrusts, arching his back and spreading his legs further, greedy for more.

“Does it feel good, John? Is Papa making you feel good? You’re such a good boy, my perfect little angel. You look amazing with my fingers in your arse, John. So beautiful.” And pleasure and desire pounded through Greg as he watched John bucking and grinding on Sherlock’s fingers, listened to Sherlock’s filthy praise.

After a few minutes, Sherlock abruptly drew his fingers entirely out of John’s arse. John keened, thrusting his arse back as far as he could without releasing Greg’s cock. Sherlock ignored this and raised the bottle of lube again. He tipped another generous quantity onto his hand, slicking up three fingers this time before bringing his hand back down to John’s arse.

“A little bit more now. Be brave for your Papa, okay?” Sherlock said. John stilled, humming an affirmative onto Greg’s cock, and Sherlock brought three slick fingers down to his small, open hole.

Without warning, Sherlock pushed his three fingers in to the second knuckle all at once. Immediately, John jerked his head up off of Greg’s cock and cried out.

“Papa, Papa, wait, please, it’s too much, it hurts, I can’t, I can’t…,” his words choked off into a rough sob. Sherlock left his fingers in, brought up one hand to stroke gently along John’s back.

“Shh, it’s okay John. It’s okay. I know it feels like a lot right now, but I promise it will get better. Can you do this, John? Can you try for your Papa? Can you be my good boy?”

John did not respond. He just knelt, small and fragile-looking, on his hands and knees in front of Greg, tears dripping down his cheeks. Sherlock waited for a short time, and then pulled his fingers out slightly before pushing them back in. John gasped and shuddered, tears still falling, but did not speak.

“That’s right, my good boy. Just like that. So good.” Sherlock thrust his fingers in and out several more times, and John whimpered but did not move or protest. “But you took your mouth off your Uncle Greg’s cock again. Do you remember what I told you, John?” Sherlock punctuated this with a sharp thrust of his fingers, and John cried out.

“You said he… he would hold m… my head to help… help me stay,” John answered, voice catching and hitching as tears rolled down his face.

“That’s right, John. Good boy.” Sherlock looked up at Greg, who had been watching the exchange completely transfixed. “Well, what are you waiting for? Hold his head, Uncle Greg. Don’t let him take his mouth off your cock.”

Greg gaped at him. He was torn, filled with sharply conflicting desires, and he had no idea what to do. John was so small, so young and pure and innocent, that Greg was filled with the desire to wrap him up and protect him, to keep him safe. But at the same time he wanted nothing more than to pound into his little mouth, to watch Sherlock fingerfuck his tiny arse until he fell apart, to debase his innocence and see him dripping in come and tears. And that side was winning, fueled by a consuming lust unlike anything Greg had ever felt before. God, how he hated himself.

Sherlock was watching him closely and smiled suddenly as Greg brought his hands up and carefully rested them on John’s small head. “All that and more, Lestrade,” he said, answering Greg’s unspoken desires. Greg did not have the energy to spare to wonder how he could tell.

Greg tried to be gentle. He guided John’s head back to his cock, and John went willingly enough, even opening his mouth and letting Greg slide his cockhead back inside. Tears were still dripping from his eyes, but he was otherwise silent. Greg pushed John’s head down until his cock was as far into John’s mouth as he could get it, held him there for a moment just savoring the tight warmth of his mouth and throat, and then relaxed his hold until John could draw back just enough to breathe. Then Greg kept him there, cock filling his little mouth completely, and looked back at Sherlock.

Sherlock had been completely still, watching the sight of Greg forcing the crying boy to swallow his cock as if enthralled, but now he moved, pushing his fingers even deeper into John’s arse. Greg could see the skin of John’s arsehole stretching around the intrusion, the three fingers enormous inside his tiny arse. Sherlock pushed them in deeper and deeper before pulling them out, and then did it again, and again, and again, faster each time. John squealed and whimpered around Greg’s cock, his body bucking uncontrollably, his head jerking in Greg’s hands. And Greg held him there, kept his mouth filled with cock, kept him in place while Sherlock fingered him.

Finally, Sherlock was thrusting three fingers hard and deep and fast, all the way into John’s arse and out again, truly fucking him with his fingers. John’s whimpers had quieted and his body had stilled, although tears were still falling steadily from his eyes. His mouth was soft and relaxed around Greg’s cock. He simply knelt in place and allowed the two grown men to use his body, remaining still even when Sherlock deliberately slid across his prostate once again.

“Perfect, John. Beautiful. You’re doing so well for your Papa, for your Uncle Greg. We’re so proud of you, of the way you take my fingers. Such a big boy,” Sherlock said, still brutally fucking John’s hole with his three fingers. John did not react, and Sherlock kept fingerfucking him.

Seeking more friction, without exactly realizing what he was doing, Greg started to use his grip on John’s head to move his mouth up and down Greg’s cock. Before he knew it, he was fucking into that hot wet space, thrusting into John’s little mouth while pulling his head down tight, over and over. John did not resist, allowed him to thrust in hard, even when his cock pressed against the back of John’s throat and blocked his air. Greg heard himself moaning, short groans of pleasure each time his cock bottomed out in John’s mouth. He never took his eyes off of John’s arsehole, watching Sherlock stuff him full again and again.

Just as Greg started to feel the tingling in his abdomen and tightening in his balls that told him he was about to come, Sherlock stilled his hand, although he left his fingers lodged deep in John’s arse. Greg slowed his thrusts into John’s mouth, although he could not make himself stop completely, and waited to hear see what Sherlock was going to do next.

“I think you’re ready, John,” Sherlock said, gently caressing John’s back and arse with the hand not penetrating his arsehole. “Do you remember what I showed you this morning? I told you that I wanted to put it inside of you? I think you’re ready now. I think you can take it.”

Sherlock waited, but John showed no reaction. Greg continued to thrust shallowly into his mouth. He absolutely could not make himself stop.

Slowly, Sherlock let his fingers slip from John’s arse. John did not move, his back still arched and his knees still spread. His arsehole gaped open, visible from where Greg was sitting, the muscles around it fluttering and trembling as he watched. He felt his cock surge at the sight, and forced John’s head down harder for a moment.

Sherlock lifted the bottle of lube and another object from the ground beside where he knelt. He held the object up so that Greg could take a good look at it.

It was a dildo.

Dark blue, faintly shimmering, and a nice, realistic size. The size of a normal adult cock, very similar to his own size, or Sherlock’s. Certainly thicker, therefore, than even three of Sherlock’s fingers. Much, much too big for John’s tiny little boy hole.

Greg bit his lip and thrust into John’s mouth harder as he watched Sherlock squirting lube onto the dildo in preparation for fucking John with it.

Sherlock placed the slick, blunt head against John’s stretched-out hole. “Here it comes, my brave boy. Be good for Papa, now, and take it like a big boy.” Then he slowly, inexorably pushed the dildo inside John’s little body.

Now John reacted. He let out a loud squeal, which Greg thought might have been much louder if his airway wasn’t partially blocked with Greg’s cock. He tried to lift his head, tried to jerk it from side to side, but Greg held him down and kept him still, kept his mouth completely filled with cock. His body bucked and rolled, but Sherlock did not hesitate, pushing the dildo further and further inside him, much deeper than fingers could reach. Tears rolled down John’s face.

Finally, it was all the way inside him, only the blunt end of it still protruding from between his plump little arse cheeks. Sherlock let go and sat back on his heels, gently stroking his throbbing, aching cock as he took in the sight of Greg’s hands on John’s head, his huge palms almost completely covering John’s hair, John’s mouth filled with cock, and the big dildo jutting out of his tightly stretched arsehole. He let it rest there, let John’s small body adjust to the intrusion, while Greg continued to thrust gently, rhythmically into his mouth.

Gradually, John’s whimpers died down, his body stilled. “So good, John,” Sherlock said, when John had calmed down somewhat. “So so good for your Papa. I’m so proud of you. You took it all, fit it all inside you. I’m very impressed, John. You’re such a good boy, a perfect boy. And Uncle Greg is proud of you too.”

At that, John’s eyes fluttered open and he rolled them up to look at Greg, mouth still wrapped around his cock, face stained with tears. Greg looked back, completely shattered by the emotion in John’s eyes. He looked… hopeful.

“So proud of you, John,” Greg said. His voice was rough, cracked. He thought he might cry. “You’ve been such a good boy, so impressive.” John looked back at him and tongued around the head of Greg’s cock.

“And now, my love, you deserve a reward,” Sherlock said. And he flipped a switch on the end of the dildo where it protruded from John’s arse.

Greg heard a low humming noise, and John’s eyes flew open wide, focused on nothing, before snapping shut tightly. His whole body started to tremble and writhe, and Greg unthinkingly forced his head down, thrust his cock up into John’s mouth to help pin him in place. John started to grunt, short repetitive mindless sounds, and his body was shuddering continuously.

Sherlock spat into his hand and reached around beneath John’s belly, and Greg realized that he was grabbing John’s little cock. His arm started moving rhythmically, and John’s grunts got louder, his shudders stronger.

“Doesn’t it feel good, John? Doesn’t it feel so good inside your arse? Is it going to make you come? I want you to. That’s right John, come for your Papa. You’re such a good boy, you deserve it.” John’s grunts got higher in pitch, and tears started leaking from his eyes again.

Greg could not help himself. He watched John’s small, slender body bucking, his narrow arse absolutely stuffed full with a huge dildo, his little mouth wrapped around Greg’s cock, moaning in pleasure as Sherlock wanked him and the dildo vibrated inside him, and he had to come. He used his grip on John’s head to hold him still and started thrusting, fucking up into John’s hot little mouth. He pressed in as hard as he could, hitting the back of John’s throat over and over, blocking his airway, desperate for friction, desperate to come.

Drinking in the sight of John, his tiny body completely debauched and despoiled, fucking his mouth, Greg found himself right at the edge almost instantly. He forced his cock hard and deep into John’s mouth, into the opening of his throat, held it there, and let the orgasm explode through him. He came and came and came, pleasure rolling and breaking over him, pouring semen into John’s tight, hot mouth. John choked and spluttered as Greg came deep in his throat, coughing most of the come out to roll down his chin in an obscene glob.

Finally, Greg was finished, and he pulled John’s head off his cock. John choked out more come before drawing a harsh breath. Then he threw his head back and cried out, his voice high and sweet, and Greg watched his body buck and thrust steadily as he came into Sherlock’s hand.

As soon as John was done coming, he collapsed to the ground at Greg’s feet, whimpering. Sherlock immediately reached down and flicked the vibrator off, and John’s whimpers quieted. Then Sherlock scooped John up in his arms and turned, moving out into the open space of the siting room. He placed John down on the floor, on his back, dildo still lodged in his arse.

Greg could not move, was too exhausted and wrung out to do more than watch as Sherlock straddled John’s chest, his cock, huge and hard and dark red, thrusting up from his groin and hovering over John’s face. He knelt with his legs on either side of John’s arms, trapping them against John’s body, and he looked enormous above John’s small form.

“Papa’s turn now, John. Be my good boy and hold still,” Sherlock said, leaning forward and gently cradling John’s head in his hands. He tilted John’s head up and thrust his hips forward and down, pushing his cock into John’s slack mouth. John did not move, did not resist. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring directly ahead and seeing nothing. He looked barely conscious.

Sherlock started roughly fucking John’s mouth as John lay limp and tiny beneath him, a wave of filthy praise falling from his lips. “So good, so perfect, so sweet, my John, my angel…” John’s little body jerked with his thrusts, his legs parted, the dildo sticking obscenely out of his arse.

And Greg, to his horror and shame, felt another pulse of that all-consuming lust roll through him at the sight. His spent cock gave a feeble twitch as warmth filled his belly.

All too quickly, after an eternity, Sherlock started to jerk erratically into John’s mouth. He pulled his cock out suddenly and abruptly let go of John’s head, which clunked back down onto the floor. Sherlock stroked his cock with his hand once, twice, and then came, semen splashing directly down onto John’s face. Greg groaned and covered his own face with both hands, cock twitching again.

Silence filled the flat for a short time as Greg sat on the sofa with his hands over his face. Now that it was over, he was filled with a depth of shame he had never known before. What the hell had he just done? Fucked a child, essentially. Christ, he was a monster.

He heard Sherlock stand up and pad out of the room, but did not look to see what he was doing. He could not stand the thought of looking at John right now, seeing his guilt splashed across that innocent face. Then he heard Sherlock’s footsteps return, and the low murmur of his voice as he spoke to John.

Finally, reluctantly, Greg dropped his hands and looked around. Sherlock was knelt beside John, dressing gown back on, carefully and gently cleaning the come from his face with a flannel. The dildo was lying discarded on the rug a few feet away. John appeared to be coherent, looking up at Sherlock from where he was lying on the floor.

After a moment, Sherlock tossed the flannel to land beside the dildo. He leaned forward, speaking quietly, saying something that Greg could not hear, and kissed John tenderly on the forehead. He straightened up, pulled a blanket up from where it had rested beside him, and spread it over John. Then he scooped John up, all rolled in the blanket, and carried him to an arm chair. He placed John carefully on his lap as he sat, cuddling his blanketed form to his chest.

Sherlock spoke quietly to John, too low for Greg to make out, and John answered. John’s voice, high as it was, carried much better and Greg could clearly hear his answers.

“Did I do good, Papa?” A murmur from Sherlock. “Did I make you happy? Am I a good boy?” Another murmur. “No, it’s okay, I’m just tired. And my… you know… my bum hurts a little bit.” A longer murmur from Sherlock. “Yeah, a bath sounds nice. Thanks Papa. I love you.” And the whole time, Sherlock gently stroked the side of John’s face.

Greg needed to leave, immediately. He felt like shit, and could not stand to watch the careful hypocrisy of the scene for another second. After what they had done to the boy, to hear him talk like that was appalling.

He steadfastly ignored the low burn of arousal in his stomach that had started up as soon as he heard John ask if he was a good boy, and stood abruptly.

He found his trousers and pulled them on as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the voices from the other side of the room. He turned to leave, and had taken one step to the door when he heard John ask, in a tremulous, quavering voice, “Where is Uncle Greg going? Is he mad at me?”

Greg froze, his heart breaking. He could not, _could not_ leave here letting John think that. After all he had just done, he owed it to the boy to make him the happiest child in the world, not to hurt him more. He turned and walked back to the armchair where Sherlock sat with John on his lap, and knelt on the floor beside them.

“I’m not mad, John. I just have to go back to work.”

John looked at him with huge serious eyes. “Why didn’t you say goodbye? Did I make you mad, Uncle Greg? I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, Uncle Greg. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Oh God. Greg fought to keep his face straight, the words hitting him like blows. “I’m not mad, John, I promise. Really. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Did I make you happy? That’s all I wanted to do, be a good boy for you and Papa and make you happy.”

“Oh John,” Greg closed his eyes and swallowed once, hard. “You made me so happy. You’re a good boy, John. The best. And I love you very much.”

John smiled, radiant and beautiful. “I love you too, Uncle Greg.”

Greg stood, carefully avoiding looking at Sherlock, and turned toward the door once more. Before he could move he was stopped by the feeling of a small hand gripping his wrist.

“Uncle Greg, would you give me a kiss goodbye?”

Greg closed his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please? That’s how you say goodbye when you love someone. Please, Uncle Greg?”

Greg turned back to John, taking in Sherlock’s smug expression from the corner of his eye but ignoring it. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on John’s cheek. John giggled.

“No, silly, like this.” And he rested his soft little hand against Greg’s cheek and guided their lips together, kissing sweetly.

Greg kissed back, loving the taste of John’s lips, hating himself.

Greg stood quickly when the kiss broke. “Goodbye, John. Goodbye, Sherlock,” he said, without quite looking at either of them, and walked to the door.

Just before the flat door shut behind him Greg heard Sherlock say loudly, “Such a good boy, John.”

Greg paused on the landing, struggling to catch his breath. He wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head hard. Then he continued down the stairs, his tread heavy and slow, wrestling with the enormity of his shame and willing away the throbbing erection that had popped up when John kissed him.


End file.
